


Five Times Spock Was Interrupted While Trying to Confess His Love for McCoy and One Time He Wasn't

by therev



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2018-07-22 04:59:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7420891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therev/pseuds/therev
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To be fair, he could have tried a lot harder, or spoken a bit faster.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Spock Was Interrupted While Trying to Confess His Love for McCoy and One Time He Wasn't

On the shore of an alien ocean, McCoy stood in the surf. He wore a broad-brimmed straw hat and had his hands in his pockets. He watched the horizon.

"You will miss this world," Spock said as he approached, dressed in similar planet-appropriate clothing.

"I don't know that I'd say that," McCoy said to the brightening sky as what passed for that world's primary began to rise. On the long straight line where blue met grey, the Enterprise floated in a fog bank, a hologram in the shape of a sailing vessel, put there to fool the naïve planet folk as her crew rowed out in small teams in crude wooden crafts to be beamed up without detection.

"There are many things you would not say which may yet be true," Spock continued as another boat shoved off.

"I would say, Mr. Spock, that one might have spent a lifetime here without observing every species and knowing its name. I would say that a body could get used to this temperate climate and clear, unfiltered atmosphere, but I still wouldn't say I'm going to miss it."

Spock shifted a little as the cold water rolled over his feet. Shoes were not of that world. McCoy had seemed especially pleased about that.

"Is it not human nature to feel keenly the loss of a place which has brought such pleasure, as this island amongst the void has brought to you, Doctor?"

McCoy smiled crookedly, teasing. "What would you know of my pleasure, Spock?"

"I have observed it."

"Been spying on me again, Commander? I thought I'd convinced you I was no longer under the influence of that Andorian brain sucker."

"I am convinced. The Andorian Brain Mite has a blood thirst more significant than your own, and a decidedly lower intelligence."

"What a charmer you are, Mr. Spock." McCoy said.

A small blue creature not unlike a crab tickled at McCoy's ankle and he bent to lift it up into his hand, to watch it crawl there. 

"However," Spock continued, "it was not an act of espionage which compelled me to monitor your movements."

McCoy frowned.

"Perhaps that was an imperfect phrase," Spock suggested.

A little ways down the strand, another boat shoved off from the shore loaded with security personnel. McCoy watched them. Spock thought that they did not look happy to be leaving either.

"Perhaps a better phrase," Spock said when McCoy said nothing, "is admiring."

McCoy blinked. A wave crashed over their feet. "Admiring what?"

"Doctor..." Spock said.

"Ouch!" McCoy dropped the crab creature abruptly. Spock took his hand to examine it.

"The creature seems to have applied its pincers to your secondary digit."

"Yes, thank you, Mr. Spock," McCoy grumbled and pulled his hand away. "That information had not escaped me."

"The flora and fauna of this planet, much like its inhabitants, are unusually attuned to emotion. Perhaps it sensed something in your attitude--"

McCoy frowned, his brow pinched. "My attitude was just fine until you--"

"Gentlemen," Mr. Scott said as he approached from behind, "Begging your pardons but the last vessel's about to shove off and I don't think the Captain would like it very much if I left you two behind."

"Very well, Mr. Scott," Spock said.

McCoy sucked on his finger and nodded and Scotty grimaced but went away down the strand toward the remainder of their party.

Spock cleared his throat. "Doctor..." he said.

McCoy released his finger, looked toward the horizon and sighed. "I've got a boat to catch, Mr. Spock."  
____

"That's a tough spot you've got yourself in, Mr. Spock," Jim said and shook his head.

"Do you advise against it?" Spock asked and stood straighter. 

Jim stood from his desk, brows coming together in concern. "No, of course not. Only…"

"Only you are certain the doctor would not return my…" he frowned, "feelings."

"It's not that either," Jim said and paced his quarters, as if trying to solve a problem of approaching Klingons or deciding whether or not to enter the Neutral Zone. "It's not something we talk about, Bones and I. I tease him about exes, he scolds me for the occasional dalliance, but--" he stopped and looked up. Spock had seldom seen him look so uncertain. "Would you like me to talk to him?"

"Negative, Captain. I only wished to inquire if you believed that Dr. McCoy would be available for such an association. I have attempted before to ascertain his status to no avail."

Jim smiled. "Association? Maybe not if you called it that."

Spock hummed in agreement.

"I know him to be unattached," Jim said, rubbing his chin, then, "at least I think I do. Emotionally available, however…. It's hard to tell."

"The doctor is quite private," Spock said.

"Yes," Jim agreed, and smiled again. "He reminds me of someone else in that way. I'd have never guessed--"

Jim's door snicked open and McCoy walked in.

"Jim," McCoy said, determination in the set of his shoulders, "I am formally requesting that we go back to good old hand tools where engineering is concerned. Do you know how busy my department stays with plasma burns and…" he paused, looked from Spock to Jim.

"Now what's this?" McCoy said. "You look pale, Mr. Spock." He placed the back of his hand to Spock's forehead, then waved it away as if this action was useless. "You're not going through that pon farr business again are you?"

Jim raised his brows so high they disappeared into his hairline.

"No, Doctor," Spock said. 

"Good," McCoy said. "I prefer to only fake a man's death once. After that it just starts to look like incompetence."

"Indeed," Spock agreed.

"Something else then? Or did I just walk in on the wrong conversation?"

"I am well," Spock said, and they all went quiet.

Jim cleared his throat. "Bones, I think perhaps Spock does need, ah, someone to talk to about…" he trailed off. In Spock's experience, Jim was a terrible liar.

"Associations," Spock said.

McCoy squinted. Jim's intercom whistled.

"Captain," Christine said, "if Dr. McCoy is with you--"

"Yes, yes, I'm coming," McCoy said, then to Spock, "M'Benga's the expert on Vulcan psychology. I'll let him know to expect you." He turned on his heel and left.

Jim sighed. "That is quite a spot you've got yourself in, Mr. Spock," he said again and Spock agreed.  
___

Spock paced the small room as lights flashed overhead. McCoy stood across from him, the heavy steel door at his back only muffled the sirens and sounds of claws or hooves or horns scratching and pounding against the other side.

"Any other good ideas, Mr. Spock?" McCoy shouted over the din.

Spock replied without looking up from his pacing, "I am surprised at your classifying my last idea as effective, Doctor, as it was my suggestion to investigate the locked door which brought us to this--"

"Sarcasm, Spock! Just once I wish we'd find a secret underground laboratory where something good was coming out of it!"

"Quite so, Doctor," Spock said drily and fiddled with his tricorder. 

After a while the noise quieted and McCoy risked, at last, moving away from the door, as if his small frame might have actually been effective at holding back the creatures.

"I believe that I can modify the tricorder to contact the ship using the crystal from my damaged communicator," Spock said.

Something at the door shuffled and McCoy made a quieting gesture with his hand against his lips and tip-toed over. He whispered when he spoke.

"You wouldn't have to if I hadn't tossed my communicator at that thing. Damned fool notion. It surprised me."

Spock did not whisper but spoke quietly. "A natural reaction."

"A layman's reaction. Why does it have to have so many arms and teeth?"

"Why indeed," Spock said absently. McCoy stood close by, watching Spock's every move until Spock looked up and paused and McCoy took the hint and left Spock alone to work.

Hours passed. Spock had made a beacon of the tricorder. It blinked soundlessly as it sent a distress signal out into the atmosphere and they hoped for the best.

"It's been a while since you and I were trapped together," McCoy said, whispering still as they sat against the cold stone wall together. "What was it, the Sarpeidon Ice Age? Me, you, and Zarabeth. Although I guess we weren't alone that time."

"On the Enterprise," Spock said.

"What about it?"

"Turbolift malfunction. The lift was disabled for fifteen-point-six minutes. There was a disruption in the power grid caused by a Denebian tree rat which escaped from the biology lab. You and I were in the lift when it stopped. You were anxious about the time wasted, as it was quite early in the shift and you had not yet had coffee. You argued that I should be able to remedy the situation with, I quote, my pointed Vulcan head, and later insisted that my inflated ego alone should compel the lift into motion."

McCoy frowned but his whisper rose a little louder. "I'd never say anything that mean-spirited."

"Do you doubt my memory of the event or the truth of my statement?"

"Neither, I guess," McCoy said and shuffled his feet over the dusty floor to pull his knees closer to his body. "But maybe you misunderstood me."

Spock raised a brow, noting McCoy's submissive posture. "That is unlikely."

McCoy went quiet for a moment, licked his lips nervously before speaking. It was a habit of his Spock had seen often. "Look, Spock. How long have we known each other? Four years now?"

"Four years, two months, nine--"

"Yes, yes, the point is you should understand by now that I get mouthy when I get worried."

"As well as when you are frightened, when you are saddened or irritated, even, on occasion, when you are especially jovial."

McCoy smiled this time, then leaned over to bump his shoulder against Spock's. "You see what I mean? You know better than to take me seriously. There's no one on that ship I've got more respect for, besides Jim, I guess, and even he's too foolhardy for his own good sometimes. Maybe Uhura. But she's no fun to argue with. She's always right and always so sweet about it…" he trailed off as Spock sat quietly. When he spoke again it was with an uncertain smile. 

"Anyway, you can't really be too bothered by it. What's the opinion of an old country doctor matter to a Vulcan anyhow?"

Spock sighed. "Dr. McCoy, if you would permit me to say so--"

There was a crash on the other side of the door. A thump. A flash of light through the high window above it. Then someone knocked on the door.

"Somebody call for room service?" Jim asked from the other side.

Outside the laboratory, before they beamed out, even as they began to glitter, McCoy asked, "Whatever happened to that rat, Mr. Spock? The one that disrupted the turbo lift? I don't recall."

"It died," Spock said, and they disappeared.  
___

The nebula glittered in the distance, colors bleeding together, impossible to tell where one hue ended and another began, shot through with fluorescent veins brighter than the rest. At its heart, an electric blue cloud, like the eye of a god seen from the inside, looking out onto the star-specked black.

"Ain't that somethin'," McCoy said when he approached Spock. It was late gamma shift, but several crew members had woken or gotten leave of their posts to see the nebula from the observation deck, some even in their pajamas. Dr. McCoy was wearing slippers.

Spock nodded but said nothing else. 

"Just gasses and space dust," McCoy continued, "and yet so beautiful."

"Perhaps forming stars as we speak."

"Something from nothing, eh Mr. Spock?"

"Nothing ever comes from nothing, Dr. McCoy. Everything is made of something."

McCoy smiled, bright even in the dim light of the deck, the blue of his eyes matched only by the light of the nebula. "Of course it is, Spock. I was speaking romanctically."

"As defined by love or idealism?"

"In my experience there isn't much difference."

"One does often lead to the other," Spock said.

McCoy looked sideways at Spock, crossed his arms and bounced on his heels. "You sound like you know something about one or both, Mr. Spock. I thought Vulcans went in more for pragmatism than idealism, and… well I guess I don't know what Vulcans think of love."

Spock clasped his hands a little tighter behind his back. "There is, I believe, adequate fondness between Vulcan mates."

"Adequate fondness?" McCoy said, still half smiling but with a passion in his voice bordering on argument. "Can you look at that," he gestured toward the nebula, "and tell me that it's adequately pleasing? Can you chase a Klingon with adequate speed or make a scientific observation with only adequate findings and still be satisfied by it?" He shook is head. "There's nothing adequate about love, Mr. Spock. When it's right, there's never enough of it."

"Perhaps you are right," Spock said, his voice low, and McCoy looked up at him and the moment seemed to last longer than the time that actually passed. 

Then McCoy laughed at himself and turned away toward the clear steel and the nebula. "Listen to me, getting worked up about…. Anyway, you won't goad me tonight." He smiled even wider and turned again to face Spock. "My daughter graduated med school today. I'm determined to be pleased with everything." He raised his hand as if to take an oath. "From this moment until next gamma shift you won't hear me so much as raise my voice. In fact, if you've got any bad news for me, now's the time."

Spock cleared his throat. It felt as if there was something there. "Actually, Doctor--"

McCoy frowned, looking worried. "Wait, I take it back," he said suddenly, then patted Spock on the arm. "Maybe save it until tomorrow." He peered back out at the nebula and smiled again. After a while, he shivered, the chill of the clear steel seeping through his thin robe. Spock fetched an emergency blanket from a hatch nearby. McCoy looked surprised when Spock slid it over his shoulders, but thanked him.  
___

They forded through the dense vegetation as quickly as Spock's injury would allow. It had rained recently and water dripped down from the forest canopy, soaking their tops a darker blue, green where Spock's blood stained his uniform. A party followed them, the sound of many approaching footsteps crashing through the underbrush gaining on them. Their phasers were spent. The rest of the landing party was nowhere in sight and peculiar components in the trees interrupted communicator frequency. 

McCoy held Spock up under one arm, panting. He had done his best to patch Spock's wound but a med kit couldn't do everything, and even a Vulcan has his limits. The vines below their feet were thick and winding and they tripped once or twice, scrambling back up to run again. 

The foliage opened suddenly into a clearing, a great wide space, mountains beyond, gray in the heavy atmosphere, and between them and the mountains a chasm, unbelievably deep. They stood on a cliff. It was a very long way down.

"Great!" McCoy shouted in spite of their pursuers. "What now, Mr. Spock?"

They turned to face the noise in the bushes.

"Perhaps we may reach the ship away from the canopy of trees?" Spock suggested, and pulled out his communicator with some effort. It squealed and squawked but there was no communication. "Negative," he said.

McCoy huffed and adjusted his grip on Spock. He was sweating. "That it, then? That's all you've got?"

"At the moment, Doctor, yes." Spock said.

The party grew louder. The bushes parted and a half dozen humanoids stepped into the clearing, a ragged bunch in breeches and crooked tricorn hats and tattered wigs, brandishing tarnished and chipped cutlasses or axes. They each had one eye. Not because they had each lost one, but because they were born that way, squinting viciously from the center of their foreheads. Their mouths were somewhere below their black beards, grunting in a language unknown to the Federation. 

McCoy looked over their attackers, then down into the ravine, then up at Spock. "How did we get here?"

"As you were present for all actions leading to this moment, I will assume that is a rhetorical question meant to be humorous in a tense situation."

McCoy rolled his eyes. "Why the hell aren't they attacking?"

"I believe they do not understand the nature of the phaser blasts which incapacitated their peers," Spock explained, looking around for inspiration. "They are not certain if we still pose a mortal threat."

One of the humanoids shouted. They inched closer. McCoy and Spock took a step back.

"I think they're figuring it out," McCoy said.

Another shouted and beat the bushes with his cutlass. Several great birds were flushed from the greenery, flying out on colorful wings the width of a man's arms. Soaring up and away. 

They took another step back to stand at the edge of the cliff.

"Do you trust me, Doctor?" Spock asked. 

"Is it a requirement?" McCoy said, eyes wild. 

"Not strictly, however, it would be gratifying."

"Just do whatever you're going to do, Spock!"

Spock nodded then turned to face McCoy. "I may remind you later that you did agree to this course of action," he said, then pulled McCoy closer and jumped.

There was only a moment of free-fall. McCoy had squeezed his eyes shut and when he opened them Spock was gripping one of the vines that ran out of the forest and over the cliff.

"You fool!" McCoy shouted. "You can't hold us both. You're bleeding like the devil."

"If you will, Doctor," Spock said, his voice strained, "take my communicator. We may reach the ship this far from the forest."

McCoy cursed but reached for the communicator awkwardly, still trying to hold on to Spock, pressed close to Spock's chest, breath panting against Spock's cheek. Spock had never felt anything so warm as the doctor wrapped around him. Then again, perhaps that was the loss of blood.

"Enterprise!" McCoy shouted, but there was nothing.

Spock felt light headed. His hand slipped but he regained his grip. McCoy nearly dropped the communicator.

"Don't you die on me, you, you Vulcan!" McCoy said, eyes flashing, then tried the ship again. 

Above them, their attackers were shouting. One of them began chopping at the vine with an axe.

"Doctor," Spock said, "If we do not survive--"

"I'll be very angry with you, Mr. Spock, that's what," McCoy said, but he didn't sound angry, and he tightened his grip on Spock's middle. "Hold on, Mr. Spock," he said softly, then the vine snapped.

The communicator chirped.

"Dr. McCoy?" Scotty asked.

Spock thought that they were falling. He felt a little better. At least he knew that McCoy would not let go. 

McCoy shouted. "Two to beam up now! Now! Now!"

Later, in med bay, Spock woke to the soft sounds of McCoy's voice telling Christine how he and Spock had outrun a half dozen one-eyed alien French Privateers. 

"Sounds like you make a good team," Christine said. 

"Oh I don't know about that," McCoy said, and Spock couldn't see him, but he could imagine the modest flutter of lashes, the self-effacing grin. "Sometimes I think I just get in the way. He never really has needed anyone, has he?"

Christine made a quiet sound. "I thought you were smarter than that, Doctor," she said.

After a moment Spock sat up and McCoy came over and fussed over his vitals and called him a no-good layabout for sleeping through his shift, but smiled crookedly as he said it and pushed Spock back down to lie on the biobed.  
___

The door to medbay was locked. Spock had made certain of it this time.

"Is that all, Mr. Spock?" McCoy asked, standing there, very still, somewhat agitated.

"Is it not sufficient, Doctor?" Spock asked, and scratched at the spots on his arm.

McCoy sighed and swatted Spock's hand away. "Now don't scratch, you might infect it. The serum should begin working shortly so you won't be contagious but that itch won't go away for at least seventy-two hours. Then again who knows with that Vulcan blood of yours. Could be minutes, could be weeks!"

McCoy turned away from him, left him feeling bared in more ways than simply having his shirt off.

Spock slid off of the exam table and followed him. "This is not the response I expected, Doctor."

McCoy rolled his eyes, handed Spock his shirt and waited for him to put it on. "Then perhaps, Mr. Spock, you should have chosen a better time to tell me that you love me, perhaps any time _other_ than a ship-wide outbreak of Rigellian Sand Pox!"

"I have attempted--"

"Now if you've got time to confess your love," McCoy said over Spock's argument, "then you've got time to help me synthesize this serum."

Spock frowned but accepted the PADD that McCoy pushed into his hands, detailed instructions for the serum glowing in bright letters. He read it for a moment before catching sight of his own reflection in its screen, his human eyes, too easily read. He turned away toward a station.

"Oh, and Mr. Spock," McCoy said behind him, voice softer than before, and laid a hand on Spock's shoulder, turning Spock to face him, "one more thing."

McCoy kissed him so suddenly that Spock nearly dropped the PADD, his human lips warm and unbearably soft, the hand in his hair gentle and familiar. When they parted, McCoy held a kind expression and a smile tilted his mouth crookedly, then he stepped away, back to his station, unlocked the door so that several crew members flooded in and said with renewed agitation, "Well, get a move on. These pox aren't going to cure themselves!"


End file.
